


If I be waspish, beware my sting

by caramel_sins



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: 16th Century, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Arranged Marriage, Dom/sub, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Hux thinks he’s the dom, More so the vibe than anything else, Praise Kink, Spanking, Tudor England, War of the Roses sort of?, he is not, if not it is now!, let’s see how many historical periods I can squeeze these two into, name kink? Is that a thing, sex workers mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:01:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26360824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caramel_sins/pseuds/caramel_sins
Summary: “Perhaps you rule this house, and me in it, but I am a larger creature than a mouse like you. Through my will, I shall have you.” He whispered in her ear, the heat of his breath making her shiver.“I shall fight you every step.” She warned, though her words held no bite.“Even cornered mice grow tired, little wife.And why fight the pleasure I can give you?”“What pleasure? You bring me nothing but irritation.” She lied.
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Rose Tico
Comments: 28
Kudos: 67
Collections: GingerRose Kink Weeks





	If I be waspish, beware my sting

The scratch of needles through taught fabric was the only noise that filled the large and empty room. Half a dozen ladies stooped, with stiff necks, over small wooden frames, running the sharp end of their needles through the lushness of silk. Small flowers, vines, and birds were created by nimble fingers, tenderly attending to their art. The youngest of them hummed a cheerful little tune haphazardly, breaking the oppressive silence with her sweetness, as she plucked away at a small sparrow made of golden thread. 

Many afternoons passed this way. Rose and her ladies would sit in the bright light of the receiving room, needles in hand, manifesting tiny recreations of nature on the yards of fabric she had acquired for such activities. On some occasions her ladies would work and Rose would take to the large arching windows along the perimeter of the room, facing out over the rolling open meadow and forest of the Tico land.

From the outside the windows resembled the backs of large arching cats, rounded at the top, edges long. They reached from floor to ceiling and were filled with pains of glass that resembled honeycombs in shape, a testament to the depth of the Tico coffers. In the waning golden light of day it often looked as if honey dripped from them, such was the beauty of the molten sun beams through the smooth glass. Rose often imagined that if she just reached out the sweet nectar would fall over her finger tips, making them sticky and sweet.

On this day she stood straight, eyes watching the edge of the forest as shapes moved in and out of the protection of the trees. Small fawns darted out of the tree line followed by a doe, head low as she munched on the crisp green grass of the meadow. Their small family ate in relative tranquility, little heads bowed as they pulled the grass free from the dirt. She prayed they would not be spotted by the gamekeeper who would surely shoot them dead upon sight. She could not bear eating venison stew after she saw them in a state of such peace. 

All of a sudden one of the fawns lifted its tiny head, ears twitching and nose taking to the air. The doe, soon followed, head moving this way and that as scent and sound reached her. Quickly they moved, retreating back into the safety of the dense trees and away from some approaching beast. Soon, Rose saw what distrurbed them so. 

The glass of the honeycomb pains was slightly warped by the heat of a late afternoon sun, making the approaching rider warbled and strange. Rose, squinted, eyes focusing on the lone figure, his body straight on his dark galloping horse. There was no doubt that it was her husband, Lord Armitage Hux. Even at this distance she could see the straightness of his posture, the glint of his ginger hair. She sighed, disappointment settling into her bones like snow falling on a window ledge. She was sure she had another week without his presence in her household, without his boorishness, without his watchful eyes, without his body pressed against hers in one of his rare nightly visits. Seven more glorious nights free of her treacherous body, responding positively to his touch. But this was not the case. 

Not long after her eyes lighted upon his form she heard the sound of his thundering steps as he made his way up the stairs to their receiving room where she sat with her ladies. He emerged, hair a mess, green eyes shining, dark green velvet doublet wrinkled from hours of riding. He looked handsome and the thought made her furious. She swallowed her feelings hoping none of her turmoil read on her face. She hated how expressive she was, how all emotions played across the planes of her visage like light on the reflection of a clear pond. She hoped after years at court she could school her features into some form of neutrality, and yet she was never able to master the courtly art of deception. She was a book open for all to read.

Lord Hux bowed to her, as was customary, though she could see that he did not relish the act. Men like him were not used to bowing, especially to ladies that had ranked so far below them. _Oh how the mighty had fallen._ She curtsied, as was customary, though bending to him brought her no joy. Women like her did not ever wish to bend to men like him, all bluster and arrogance. They were well matched in disdain.

They said nothing to each other as Rose dismissed her ladies, watching their retreating backs with barely disguised longing. She wished to follow them, to hide away from the man before her and the tumultuous feelings he brought. But she stayed, rooted to her spot, ready to face him. 

“You are early, my lord.” She observed, moving the heavy fabric of her gown as she paced about the room. He watched her, like a hawk would watch a mouse before swooping to consume it. 

“Seems I am, little wife. Disappointed?” Hux asked, smirk gracing his full lips, slightly disguised by his thick beard. He knew she was.

“Surprised is all.” She lied smoothly, just as any good lady would. She could tell by the look in his eye he knew she told tales. He was a shrewd man, afterall. 

“Well, the city has grown dull and I have exhausted my meager allowance.” He announced as he took strides toward her, approaching her with unbridled confidence. She turned on him with shock, heavy skirts sweeping against the floor. 

“You spent _all_ your money?” She had given him a very generous allowance, far more than any reasonable man would need. He was not one for gambling or needless frippery, so she knew he did not spend it on dice or doublets. What in God’s name could he have done with such coin?

As if to punctuate his lack of frugality, he withdrew the purse that hung from his hip and threw it to the ground. It made no sound, no clink of heavy coin. It lay lifeless and empty at her feet. 

“The amount I gave you should have been more than adequate, _sir_ .” She was furious. How careless he was with _her_ money, _her_ father’s coin. She was a generous woman, far more than she should be, and this was how he repaid her?

“Certainly. But I required more robust entertainment while I was away from your amorous attentions, little wife.” She recoiled at his words. Amorous attentions. He laughed at her, laughed at her coldness toward him. Laughed at how she failed him as a wife. How could he speak to her thusly when he was such a poor excuse for a husband?

“You vile creature!” She spat at him, pacing like a viper, ready to strike. 

“It is flattery, my lady. So lonely was I, so desperate for your calming touch, I was _forced_ to take up residents with accomplished and courtly ladies just so I may feel at home.” He playacted at sadness, at some loss of affection between them as he spoke of the _whores_ he had bedded. She wanted to claw at him, to strike him with bruising force. Fury coursed through her, making her skin heat and eyes blaze. Her pacing grew frenzied as she fisted the fabric of her skirts between trembling fingers.

“God’s teeth! What nature of beast was I forced to marry?” She seethed and cursed, unable to contain the anger inside her. How he insulted her! How he reveled in her humiliation! 

“A fine specimen of man.” He laughed at her, arms out to display his many charms. She hated how well he looked, skin smooth and pale, lips full and inviting, light lashes long and soft, his strong jaw covered in a well groomed beard. His beauty made her murderous. She would see him dead before the day was out!

“Do not flatter yourself.” She snapped. He smiled wider, clearly pleased at the way he riled her. He was like a cat toying with its meal before he sunk his jaws into her soft flesh. 

“I do not, my lady.” He insisted, though his teasing eyes belied his words. 

“If I fill your purse will you leave me be? Will you return to the city?” She asked, eager to be free of him. She knew only peace before she married this horrid man, this alluring demon. As soon as she was bound to him her life only knew turmoil and strife. What she wouldn’t give to not have to look upon his face any longer! 

“No.” Was his simple reply. He moved toward her, coming close. She had to tip her head back to look at him, so tall was he. She hated how he dwarfed her, how her small form was made even smaller under his shadow. Again she was a mouse and he was the circling hawk, eyes watchful.

“Why ever not?” She asked with all the power and anger her little body possessed. Even a mouse could bite when cornered. 

“I require access to the purse strings, not just the poultry sum you deem adequate.” His teasing expression changed, seriousness befalling his lovely features. _So now we were at the root of his grievance_ , Rose thought. 

“You shall not.” She grinned as she watched his face turn to fury, all his beautiful angles morphed into sourness, his pale skin turning pink with unchecked emotion. 

“Harpy!” He barked as he stepped away from her. She was relieved to be free from him, though a small traitorous part of her wanted to be close to him once more, to feel the heat of him. It conjured up feelings, images, like the nights he would visit her bed. Then she would feel his heat all round her, inside of her, as she shuddered around him, lips closed as she tried to contain her pleasure. She hated how her body cried out for his touch. 

“May I remind you, _husband_ , that it is I who stands between you and your head on a pike. It would do you well to not insult me for I may not stand in anyone’s way if they seek retribution.” She threatened him, reminding him of his place, of the precipice he walked along. One wrong turn and he would fall. He lived only by her grace, by the sacrament of their marriage. He had fought for the Usurper, the vile creature who claimed to be king, until he turned spy in the waning days of the war. When the battles had ended there was much discussion of his execution, of his head joining its brothers along the Tower wall. The Queen, in her infinite wisdom, decided to reward him instead. He had prepared for their vows in the Tower, so close to death was he. It would do him well to remember that.

“Oh little wife, do you not recall our vows, we are one in the same. Your fate is tied to mine. And I do recall a vow you made to be obedient. Often I see that vow is broken!” He roared at her as he approached again, taking hold of her wrist, his grip hot on her bare skin. She struggled to break free but his long fingers tightened, bruising in their pressure. 

“This is no ordinary marriage, husband, the power of it rests in my hands. In this manor I am the lord and you the lady. It is by my will that you live comfortably. Do not forget your place.” She spat at him as he brought his face towards hers. Their noses almost brushed and her eyes crossed as she tried to glare into his green eyes. 

“You pervert the natural order, wife. God is the husband; the Church his wife. He rules over it. The Monarch is the husband; the nation his wife. He rules over it.” Though his words were vicious his grip on her wrist grew soft and his free hand came to stroke the plushness of her cheek. His tenderness shocked her into fury and she pulled away. 

“And in this manor I am your God and I am your Queen! You live and die by my hand and my rule!” She snapped. She watched as his face grew flushed with anger once again. There was a victory there, in the way his green eyes flashed and his cheeks bloomed red like twin flowers. She reveled in her small power, feeding off the glory of her triumph. 

“What a rabid bitch you are!” His voice was as sharp as a dagger and it pierced just the same. She moved farther away from him, eyes watching as he circled, calculating his next strike.

“Curse you, foul man! Go to your whores and press no more sons on me!” Rose’s voice quaked with her rage, her hands shook as she grabbed onto her skirts, lifting them out of the way of her stomping feet. The feel of the velvet against her fingertips grounded her, kept her from lurching forward and clawing into his smooth skin with sharp nails and teeth. Even cornered mice could leave a mark on swooping hawks. 

“Gladly, but whores require coin and you deny me my due!” Hux snapped back. She laughed, a hollow sound as she turned on him again, eager for the fight. 

“Then woo an eager woman if you are capable.” She countered, a devilish grin settling on her features. All the power lay in her hands now, he was resplendent in his anger, eyes flashing with unchecked fury. 

“If I am _capable_?” His voice was low and warning, his anger yet to settle into explosive rage. He seethed for her, his wrath sharp like talons. How easy it was to torment him. She played him like a lute, his strings so easily plucked.

“You have no charm, sir, I assume it takes a great deal of effort for you to subdue a woman to your will.” She countered. The insult hit him like a slap and he lunged for her. She was quicker stepping out of his grasp and retreating from his advancing form. Her back hit a long table behind her, a wedding gift from their Queen.

“Why should I go elsewhere when I have your cold cunny at my disposal?” Hux grabbed her waist, hands splayed along her back. His fingers dug into the laces at the back of her gown, pulling as if he would undress her. She gasped as he tugged, releasing the tension of them, letting the garment sag and fall, revealing the intricate embroidery of her kirtle and the sleeves of her shift. She stood, slightly stunned before she attempted her escape once more, thrashing against his weight. She was unsuccessful, his strength outmatched hers and he pinned her with his hips and the heat of his gaze. 

“It is cold only for you, _husband_. You seem incapable of bringing a woman pleasure.” She replied, hoping her insult would make him angry enough to pull away, setting her free in a fit of disgust. He did not rise to her bait. Instead he grinned, lowering his face as if to inhale her scent. She felt his breath on her neck, felt the warmth of it ghost over her tender skin.

“Is that so?” His voice was a low murmur, she felt the heat of it between her legs. 

“It is.” She breathed. She hated how her voice had gone soft. The power he wielded, in this moment, was infuriating. She had to right things, to show him that she was above him in all matters. That she was the hunter not the hunted. But she could not, for the life of her, push him away.

“Then why, when I _press sons on you_ do you hold back cries of pleasure, little wife.” His lips met the flesh of her neck and she could not help the way she grabbed at the soft velvet of his doublet, holding it between clenched fists. The pleasure was so great tears formed at the corner of her eyes. _Oh curse my wanton body!_

“I do no such thing, you flatter yourself.” Her breath came out in rapid huffs as he trailed heated kisses down the column of her throat. All venom was leached out of her as he touched her bare skin. She felt aflame, consumed by scorching heat at the mere brush of his lips. Oh how she despised him!

“I am well aware of my inadequacies, my lady, but in this I know my accomplishments.” She could feel him grin, feel the smugness of his words as he spoke them into her skin. His smile of triumph brought her back to herself for a moment, igniting some latent spark of defiance in her. By the grace of God she was able to push him away, making him stumble. He looked surprised as he found his feet, a flash of something like hurt crossed his features but was gone before she could be sure. 

“You accomplish nothing. You are a pathetic excuse for a man!” She shouted as she tried to create some distance between them. She moved along the table trying to reach its end so she could back away from him further. She was desperate to be free from the spell he cast over her. 

“God help me! I should take you in hand, shrew!” He ground out, pride clearly wounded. He was breathing heavy as if he had run a great distance, his face flushed. Her eyes followed that flush from his cheeks down to his neck and below the edge of his shirt. From their nights together she knew his chest would match it in color, and she felt heat in her own cheeks as she thought about how much she liked seeing it as his body moved over hers. 

“If you lift one finger to me I will bite the appendage clean off, on God I swear!” She warned as she tried to bolt, running forward toward the door. He lunged for her, grabbing her around the waist and lifting her into the air. Her legs kicked out, trying to break free of his arms, shrieks of protest and rage spilling from her lips. He held her thrashing form, thin arms deceptively strong as they kept her aloft. He gathered her against his chest, her back flush against him, his breath hot in her ear. She could not see his face but she could feel the triumphant smile against her cheek.

“Perhaps you rule this house, and me in it, but I am a larger creature than a mouse like you. Through my will, I shall have you.” He whispered in her ear, the heat of his breath making her shiver. 

“I shall fight you every step.” She warned, though her words held no bite. He tutted, head shaking as if he were reprimanding a child. 

“Even cornered mice grow tired, little wife.And why fight the pleasure I can give you?” His voice was a low purr, rumbling through her. She shivered at the sound, wanton desire flooding her. She cursed her treacherous body, how it sung for him, for his wicked touch.

“What pleasure? You bring me nothing but irritation.” She tried to hide her lust, to hide the way she melted into him. He was not so easily fooled.

“You lie, mouse. It is a sin to bear false witness.” He bit the shell of her ear, lips and tongue soothing the sting. 

“All sin is yours, my lord.” She moaned, arm rising to fist her hand in his hair. The strands of his copper hair were like silk between her fingers and he groaned at the feel of her long nails scratching against his scalp. She did not intend to reward him for his amorous attentions but she could not help the way she responded, her body moving beyond her conscious mind.

“Oh no, little wife, it is you who sins. And all sinners must confess, must be punished. Shall I punish you?” He dropped his head from her ear to the place we here her neck met her shoulder, lips and teeth attacking the unblemished flesh. She felt weak, trembling in the cage of his arms, fingers still buried in the silk of his tresses. 

“I confess nothing.” She breathed, squirming against him. He chuckled at her weak attempt at freedom. 

“Then I shall wring confession out of you.” Suddenly he moved, forcing her feet to the ground. Her eyes popped open, she was barely aware she had closed them so lost in the feeling of his mouth on her. Before she could get her bearings his large hand grabbed her shoulder, pressing downward as he bent her over one end of the long table. She reached out toward the edge, fingers gripping the dark wood, knuckles turning white with the force. She felt his hands on the fabric of skirts lifting them up and over, eager to expose her bare skin. 

“My lord!” She gasped, surprised by his actions, and the force of which he tugged at the garments in his way. 

“Hush, little wife. Or I shall punish you more for your disobedience.” He grumbled as he fumbled, searching for her underneath the weight of her many layers. 

Rose remained silent, anticipation making her amenable to his commands. She could not make heads nor tails of what had transpired between them. How could all this unchecked wrath turn into the all consuming flame of lust? How could she, at one moment, want to cause him pain and now all she could think of was pleasure? She wondered, dimly, if this was witchcraft, some dark arts at work. Surely it was the Devil’s doing though she had never felt so close to heaven in all her life. 

Finally, Hux found her. She heard a sigh of triumph and a soft sweet prayer as he took in the sight of her. It occurred to her, then, that he had never seen her in her true form, bare and naked as Eve in the garden. Shame had made her hide behind shifts and nightgowns when he had taken her before. Even on their wedding night she had lay clothed, only the outline of her breasts visible through the thin linen of her nightclothes. But now, in the waning daylight of their receiving room, her husband finally saw his wife in full, her ass exposed like ripe fruit cut open and ready to be consumed. She shivered under the weight of his gaze, waiting eagerly for his touch. And touch he did with worshipful hands, fingers kneading her supple flesh. 

“For all your horrible biting, little mouse, you are an exquisite creature when subdued.” His voice was an awed gasp, like a sinner before God. She wished to see his face, to see the way he looked upon her like she was Venus emerging from her shell but she could not see him over the cresting wave of her many layers. She tried to rise, to look upon her supplicant, but he gently pushed her back into place, her front pressed up against the table. She obeyed his wordless command, smiling as she settled.

“Do not fool yourself into believing you have subdued me, husband.” She warned, making sure he understood his place. Though he held her there, though she lay bent over and at the mercy of his hands, she was determined to assert her power. It was by her grace that she allowed such treatment. It was her pleasure that drove them to this precipice and only upon her command would they fall. 

“You are right, there is nothing in this kingdom or the next that could subdue the will of my little wife.” There was a tenderness in his voice that made her believe that his words were more truth than teasing. The sound of it set her heart to aching and her pulse quickened. Was love not a sibling to lust? She felt as if she were in danger of feeling more for her husband than she ought and yet she could not conjure anything like fear. 

“You grow weak, husband.” She replied, hoping the gentle teasing would make her forget all notions of love. The words were a poor distraction but a soft bite on the flesh of her bottom made her forget all rational thought. All she knew and all she wanted in that moment was the feel of his mouth upon her again. 

“The sight of your beauty would make any man weak.” He admitted, breathless, lifting his face away from the glory of her soft body. She felt the molten heat of her cunny double at his worshipful words. His lips returned, leaving hot opened mouthed kisses along the soft skin of her thighs and ass, missing the dripping heat of her core. She cursed him every time his breath ghosted over her waiting cunt, teasing her, making her desperate. She wanted nothing more than to feel his mouth on her there, to hear the wet noise of his tongue running through the delicate folds of her center. God help her, for she craved it with every cell of her being.

“Is this how you mean to punish me, my lord?” She asked with soft innocence, ready to receive his loving reprimand if it meant an end to this delicious form of torture. If her penance felt as good as his mouth upon her tender parts, she was ready to take it. 

“No.” And with not a moment to think, to imagine the myriad of ways in which he could seek retribution, a firm and loving hand fell on the fullness of her ass with a loud and sharp smack. She jumped at the sensation, her body sliding up the expanse of the table. Heat bloomed across her sore skin and a delicious ache sparked along her nerves, making her slick between her thighs.

“Armitage!” Rose moaned, the sting of his blow lingering despite the gentle caress of his hand across the reddened flesh. 

“So you know my Christian name? I do believe this is the first time I have heard it from your lips.” He hummed as he drew the tips of his fingers up and over her velvety thighs and bottom, grazing over the lips of her cunt. She shuddered, weakly, under the heat of his hand. 

“Surely I have said it before.” She knew she had not, that she lied through her teeth. She knew she withheld it from him, from herself, just as she withheld her affection. She had been so angry when she married him, so distraught by the command of her Queen. He was a traitor, an agent of the Usurper even if he had fed her Queen vital information, her marriage to him had felt like an insult, a punishment she did not deserve. She had vowed, on that day, never to speak his name nor show him any kindness. But as she denied him so too did she deny herself, for she found that, despite her best intentions, she had been drawn to him like a moth to the flame.

“I would remember the sound of it falling from your lips, little wife.” His voice was soft, mournful in tone though he tried to hide it with the slide of his hand across her and then between her thighs, right where she needed him most. For a moment, he succeeded, as he ran his hand through her cunt, drawing soft sighs from her lips. 

“Shall I say it more, husband?” She asked, her voice extending into a moan as his touch became more persistent, more ardent. 

“Please, my love. Though if ‘husband’ falls as sweetly from your lips as it does now, you may call me that also.” He replied, his voice low as his own arousal doubled. There was a satisfaction in knowing she could make him as weak as she was with only the sound of her voice and her nakedness. She needn’t extend much effort to make him ache, to draw out his own want. She felt divine, exceedingly powerful, as he ran his fingers through her with more pressure and focus as he lost control. 

“May I call you ‘my lord’?” She asked, her voice low and husky as pleasure crashed over her in waves. Without warning Hux removed his hand, making her knees buckle at the loss. She tried to turn, to beseech him to continue but another smack landed on her ass effectively stopping her begging. She moaned as pain bloomed, followed by a pleasurable sting and then the gentle caress of his hand. 

“You do not like it, my lord?” She knew punishment would follow, that his hand would meet her heated skin and she did not care. Perversely she desired his harsh reprimand, the feel of his sharp blow on her skin. And he did not disappoint her. His hand landed with an audible _smack_ followed by her cry of wicked pleasure.

“You are a naughty thing, little wife.” He murmured as he ran a soothing hand over her abused skin. She shivered, his gentleness as depraved as his stinging reproach. Slowly, like a raindrop rolling down a window pain, his fingers drifted back to the folds of her wet cunny. She moaned, legs shaking as he drew lazy circles around her pearl, bringing her to new heights with his clever fingers.

“I am sorry, husband, please forgive me.” Her voice was a soft whimper as he continued to toy with her. Little tremors of pleasure shot through her as his fingers became more focused in their attentions. She cried out for him, breathless and eager for him to give her more. She heard him chuckle behind her, a pleased sound. She wished to see him, to see his smile but she lay still for him wishing more for his touch than anything else.

“I know you are not contrite, my love, but I will reward you all the same.” Before her mind could process his words she felt the brush of his lips over her aching cunny, tongue reaching out where his fingers had been. He moaned into her slick flesh, the pleasure his as much as hers. 

“Is it my reward or yours, my lord?” She gasped, the feel of his hot tongue like divine love. She whined when he suddenly pulled away, legs giving way at the loss of his touch. He held her upright with firm hands before he laid another blow to her abused bottom. She squealed and giggled, body wiggling away from his hand.

“What a little minx you are. I do believe you like being punished. Tell me, my love, does the slap of my hand on your heavenly ass make you wet?” He asked as he slipped his hand between her thighs, feeling the evidence of her desire on his fingers.

“Yes, husband.” She sighed, falling back into the sensation of his fingers running through her slick, gathering her nectar on the tips of his fingers, sweet and sticky.

“What ever will I do with you?” His voice was light, playful, it made her smile. She imagined he wore a similar expression on his face.

“Put your mouth on me.” She demanded, trying to exert her power once again. His chuckle turned into a guffaw, she felt the force of his laugh in the slight shake of his hands. What heavenly music it was, to hear her husband’s laugh. 

“Who is in command here, you or I?” He asked as he leaned forward once again, breath ghosting over her cunny. He was so close and yet so far from her. She cursed him and praised him in the same breath for stoking her desire thusly. He was more talented than he ever let on. 

“I am, husband, never forget that.” She felt his responding laugh more than she heard it, so close was he to her aching core.

“I never shall.” He replied as he dipped his tongue inside her again. 

“Oh, Armitage,” she moaned on a long exhale. She spoke his name with sincere reverence and was rewarded with his generous enthusiasm. He lapped at her with renewed force, her body swaying as pleasure rolled through her like changing tides. She held onto the table for dear life, fearful that the waves would pull her under and she would drown in ecstasy.

“How well you serve me, husband,” she praised him with soft gasping words. He moaned into her flesh, her reverence spurring him on. She could give him such sweet compliments, if he continued to worship her thusly. As long as there was enough breath in her to speak. 

“Do not stop... _oh_ kind husband, for-for I shall weep at the loss of your... _ooh_...clever tongue,” she stuttered in her adoration, his ministrations making her speech labored. She could barely form thought as his tongue swirled around her very center, pushing her closer and closer toward blessed release. 

The hands at her hips, clawed her flesh, so lost he was in servicing her. Her own fingers dug rivets into the rich wood of the table as she scrambled for purchase, her pleasure making her legs weak and her body restless. She was desperate to fall off the impending cliff, every nerve in her body cried out for such ecstasy. 

“My love, _please._ ” She begged for what she did not know but she begged all the same. And by some miracle he understood what she so desperately needed, closing his lips around her pearl and _sucking_ with exquisite force. Her knees buckled, eyes screwed shut, lips parted as her breath came out in stuttering gasps of air. Nothing could compare to the sensation of his lips around her clit, his desperate devotion to her unending pleasure. She let every cry slip from her open mouth, eager to show him how well he served her, how grateful she was for his _amorous attentions_. He rewarded her with small moans of his own and eager hands running along the supple flesh of her hips and thighs. 

“Oh my love, I am close _.”_ She whined and her back arched as ecstasy shot it’s way through her. She trembled, body shaking like leaves on a tree. Every nerve of her body felt the deep pleasure of her divine release. Distantly she was aware of her husband’s continued ardent touch, too sharp on her overly sensitive flesh. 

“Enough, Armitage, please.” She begged as she squirmed from his grasp. He let her go, rising from his position behind her. With shaking limbs she stood, turning around so she may look upon her husband. 

Rose could not help the grin that spread across her face as she gazed at him. Armitage Hux looked utterly debauched. The flush on his pale skin, the darkness of his green eyes, his copper strands askew, and the evidence of her pleasure on his lips and beard, painted the portrait of a man who had known the sweet intimacy of a woman. And she was that woman. He raised a hand, wiping his mouth with the back of it. The action, all slow purpose and lusty gaze, made her breath seize and her desire redouble. What power he possessed in such a small gesture. 

“Did I serve you well, my lady?” Hux asked as he slowly approached, hands reaching to find her body again. She felt the warmth of them around her waist and their quiet strength as he lifted her again, placing her bare bottom on the edge of the table. From her perch, Rose found that their heights were better matched, easier for her to touch him when she desired. And oh how she desired to touch every inch of skin available. She was greedy in her want of him. She reached for him, for the beautiful contours of his face, bringing a hand to his stubbled cheek. He sighed into her outstretched fingers, nuzzling against her hand like a kitten. 

“Can you not call me by my Christian name as I call you by yours?” She asked as she brought his face close to her’s, brushing her lips against the rough edge of his bearded jaw. She was desperate to hear her name from his lips, to hear the way it rolled off his tongue. The precious few times he had spoken it had thrilled her more than she would have admitted it before. He had a command over their language, an exotic burr, that had always set her heart a-flutter despite how she tried to ignore it. She had shed that shame, now, free to beg for the song of her name from his parted lips. 

“I shall call you nothing else, Rose.” He whispered as he bent to kiss the space behind her ear. She could not decide what she liked better, the sound of her name in his soft rolling voice or the feel of his ardent kisses along the delicate expanse of her skin. With each press of his mouth, with each nip of his teeth, with each stroke of his tongue she yearned for more of him. She desired, above all else, to feel his lips against hers, to kiss him with equal reverence and delicate passion. 

They had only shared that intimacy twice before, and not once with such tremulous affection. The first was on their wedding night when he was in his cups. Drunkenly he had pulled her to him pressing his lips on her with sloppy disdain. She had barely registered the feel of him before her hand came up and slapped him clear across the face. That night, as he moved above her for the first time, his lips did not meet her skin but instead whispered gentle compliments into her hair. It had confused her, made her heart stutter and her body quake as he spoke of her beauty, unaware of the words that left him. 

The second kiss they shared was delivered in the heat of passion as he performed his duty in the pitch darkness of a moonless night. Then she had not slapped him but whimpered into his lips as soft release rolled through her. It was the closest they had been to some kind of affection but nothing came of it. Upon rising they had pretended no such intimacy had occurred. Now, all has changed. 

“You may call me ‘little wife’ if you so choose. I must admit I like the appellation.” He had called her that from their first night together. He had whispered it into the strands of her hair as he had dipped a hand between them, fingers brushing her clit, bringing her to her first release. Since that moment those words had made her ache every time they fell from his lips.

“Is that all you like?” He asked her as he pulled away. She whined as his lips left her skin, distraught at the loss of his touch but when she saw the raw, questioning look upon his face she silenced any protest. 

He was a vulnerable creature before her, forlorn and desirous of her affection. All made sense now. His relentless teasing, his anger, his reaction to her praise was all in service of his own trepidation. He feared her rejection and felt the sting of her insults acutely. He had desired her and she had rebuffed him and like a sad wounded animal he had snapped his jaws in defense. Oh how rotten she felt for her treatment of him. Now she would make amends. 

“No, husband, I like much about you.” She replied with gentle tenderness, fingers stroking his cheek. He smiled, the warmth of it reaching his eyes. It was a beautiful thing to behold, her husband’s rare smile, and she treasured it like one would treasure gold, though it was a far more precious thing than that.

“Tell me.” He begged. She would have given him the answer then and there, would have told him all the ways she desired him, but she held her tongue. She knew, if done right, there was a game to play. And she knew, with certainty, she could win it.

“Earn it.” She watched, wary of any sign of distress, fearful that her words would not be met with their desired effect. But, to her great delight, an eager smile formed on her husband’s lips, assuaging her worry. He knew the game and he seemed eager to play. 

“How?” Hux asked, eyes dancing with mischief. Slowly she parted her legs for him, beckoning him closer with a crook of one of her fingers. He obeyed, slotting his hips in the cradle of her thighs, his hardness brushing up against the heat of her cunt. He shuddered at the contact, eyes closing and breath quickening as she rubbed herself against him, soaking his hose with her desire. 

“With your cock.” She whispered into the shell of his ear. He moaned at her words as he pressed his forehead against hers. One hand grabbed the meat of her thigh in an attempt to still her actions while the other buried itself on the abyss of her hair. 

“God’s teeth, little wife, your filthy mouth will be the death of me.” He ground out between clenched teeth, stealing himself against the onslaught of her lust. 

“Silence it with your lips so you may pleasure me before you perish.” She commanded, though in her own ears it sounded like begging. She was as desperate for him as he was for her, equally desirous of his compliments and touch. 

“Gladly.” He whispered as his lips descended on hers. The warmth and softness of his touch made her tremble, the tenderness almost too much to bear. She responded with ferocious want, surging forward to press herself against the supple feel of his full lips. He moaned, thrilled by her passions, eager to give into anything she would demand of him. How desperately he desired to please his feral little wife. 

The hand palming her thigh pulled away, abandoning any attempt to stop her movements. Both hands cradled her face, fingers digging into her hair, nails scratching against her scalp, setting the nerves aflame. He held her close so she might feel the full extent of his admiration. Stars fell from the heavens as he kissed her, birds sang lovely tunes, bees made sweeter honey, all the world seemed to turn with more grace. All of this, for the beauty of their kiss. 

Rose could not move fast enough, her shaking hands making quick work of the laces of his hose. The sweetness of their kiss fading and the force of her desire making her desperate. 

“Prove to me you are worthy of praise, Armitage. Let me feel your desire hot inside of me.” She demanded, her words coming quick with her urgency. All he could do in reply was nod, hands fisted in her long hair as she set him free from his hose.

“I will, my love, anything for you.” He gasped as she cuffed him with small hands, pumping the length of him. She had never seen his cock only felt it inside of her. She knew he was large, he always filled her to the brim, but seeing it in its glory was almost more than she could take. She had always found the male appendage strange, foreign, a bit unsightly when flaccid, but his was something of beauty. She blamed her lust addled mind for her affection for it but could not deny that objectively it held some appeal. 

“Shall I tell you what I like about you, husband?” She asked as she eyed him through her lashes. He was flushed, mouth agape, eyes half closed in pleasure. He was completely at her mercy and she reveled in her power.

“Please, Rose.” He begged as she continued to stroke him at a slow, lazy pace. 

“I like the feel of your cock in my hand, like velvet, hot and leaking for me.” She told him, her hand squeezing slightly to emphasize her point. He gasped, hand reaching out to the table to steady himself. 

“Only for you, little wife.” He moaned as she nibbled on his ear, lips trailing down his blushing skin. 

“That is right, Armitage. Remember it is only I who can bring you such pleasure.” She continued to toy with him, enjoying the way he gasped and whined for her. The noises made her wet, her cunt ached for him to fill it but she remained patient, waiting for the right moment. 

“Yes, my love.” How sweet he sounded as she brought him pleasure. She adored him like this. 

“How well behaved you are when your cock is in my hand. Should I reward you further?” She asked. 

“Yes.” He moaned as she let go of his aching cock. He looked up at her eyes begging for her to continue but she did not. Instead she lifted her skirts, moving the heavy fabric up and away from her, exposing her cunny to him again. 

“Shall I shower more praise upon you?” She asked as she reached for his hand pulling it toward her, toward her open mouth. He nodded eyes trained on her lips as she pulled one finger in her mouth and then the other, sucking the appendages with gusto. She released both with an audible _pop_. 

“You have the most beautiful hands, Armitage. Lovely like a bard’s, fingers long and well shaped. When I see them I always think how much I like the feel of them on me, inside of me.” She pulled his hand to her dripping core and guided him to stroke her. The barest touch made her moan and shiver, so aroused was she. 

“I would spend the rest of my days touching you, and you alone.” He groaned as his fingers sank into the depths of her, feeling the pull of her shuddering cunt. She whined as he curled them, gently sawing them in and out of her. 

“You treat me so well, my love.” She moaned as she writhed along the hard edge of the table, trying to pull his fingers further inside her dripping center. She felt possessed, full of her own power and sway, drunk on the pleasure of it all. For his part he seemed equally taken, falling into the waves of ecstasy that she had created with her words and undulating body. She called him like a siren, eager to throw him against the rocks of her own desire. Happily he would perish, giving her all that she needed. 

“Rose, let me fuck you, please.” He begged her, voice broken and pleading. She looked upon his humbled form, his flushed skin, his dark eyes, his disheveled hair, his leaking cock and she felt benevolent. How could she deny him his pleasure when she desired it so? 

She reached for him again, hand twining into the silken strands of his hair, pulling him close. She kissed his lips with unparalleled intensity, imbuing the action with all the emotions she could not say. She told him with her lips, how she desired him, how she treasured the nights he would touch her with silent reverence. She told him with her kiss all the ways in which he pleased her, made her heart weak for him. 

“To deny you any longer would be to deny myself.” She whispered into his lips as she slipped his cock inside her. 

Their joining was a thing of beauty, a glorious tempest on a wide open sea, the sapphire of crashing waves meeting the dark grey of an angry sky. Their breath released in a combined groan, a benediction, a grateful cry to a benevolent God. Hux pulled her close and she pulled him even closer, as if she could swallow him whole, as if she could fuse with the warmth of his skin. He smelt of juniper and the sharp scent of a living body. He always smelled evergreen, always constant in his presence, a creature of the natural world more than the human. She was overwhelmed by him, by his warmth, by the heat of him buried so very deep inside of her. 

“Shall...shall I give you more praise, Armitage?” She asked, eyes rolling back as he began to move at a steady rhythm, hitting a spot that made her cunt clench around him.

“Please.” He moaned, his mouth pressed against the place where her pulse thrummed. 

“I have never, in all my life, seen a man who equals you in beauty.” She gasped, a slight whine escaping with the words. As she looked upon his face now, in the throes of passion, she meant every word she said. He was exquisite, like a painting of an angel, like a statue of a long forgotten god. She could forever marvel at the beauty of her husband.

“Do not tease me, little wife.” He replied as he fisted his hand in the length of her hair, pulling her head back with a sharp pull. She loved the sensation, the pressure on her scalp sending tingling heat along her body. 

“I... _oh God_...do not tease you.” She could barely form words as his pace grew punishing. She looked upon him through heavy eyelids, taking in the glory of his furrowed brow and panting lips. He was glorious in his passion.

“So beautiful. My beautiful husband.” She reached for him, hand stroking his bearded cheek. He pressed his forehead against hers, his hips slowing as he pounded into her with languid thrusts. She moaned at the change, inching closer and closer to her release.

“You are beauty incarnate, my love. An angel among mere mortals.” He whispered to her, making tears prick at the corners of her eyes. She closed them as she concentrated on the feel of him inside of her. 

Every nerve was aflame as he rocked into her. Her entire being was consumed by him, by her need for his touch. She could feel the enormity of the universe spinning on the wild axis of her mounting pleasure. Comets and astral anomalies flew across the landscape of her eyelids as pleasure rushed through her. Her release was like a crashing wave, a falling star, an arrow through the heart. Everything was made strange and warbled by the glory of it. Her senses were overwhelmed by the ecstasy that he gave her, by her love for him. 

Rose came back to herself at the sound of Hux’s shuddering gasps, his own peak hitting him. She felt his seed spill inside of her like the warmth of an ancient embrace. She wondered for a moment if it would take root this time, if she would give him a child. Before, the thought frightened her and kept her up at night. Now there was something pleasant about it and she held onto the hope for a moment, letting it warm her as he stepped away from her buzzing body. 

“That was...unexpected.” She said as she slipped from the table and went to pick up her long discarded gown. It reminded her of the skin of a snake, left behind after the serpent had grown too large for its confines. She lifted it, the fabric heavy in her hands. Together, in companionable silence, they redressed. Hux attempted to smooth his rumbled doublet to little effect while Rose pulled her gown up around her. 

“Indeed,” was Hux’s soft reply. She made her way over to him, slowly, holding her gown up to her chest as she shuffled toward him. He smiled as she turned her back to him, presenting the laces so he could help her secure the garment. With unpracticed fingers he attempted to lace her up, pulling haphazardly at the silken ribbon and metal grommets. For a man who frequented ladies of the night he seemed ill suited for dressing a woman.

“Rose, please forgive me.” He whispered into her skin as he pressed a chaste kiss to the nape of her neck. It was a sweet gesture and she sought to reward him. She reached up behind her to stroke his cheek, feeling the rough hairs of his beard on the skin of her palm.

“For this? What have you to apologize for?” She asked, slightly afraid of his answer. Nothing that he ever said to her would have hurt as much as his rejection now. 

“For how I spoke to you.” He replied. She turned to him, eyes searching his face. His expression was the perfect picture of unforgiven guilt. Though it pained her to see it, Rose felt relief wash over her as well. She reached for him, wrapping her arms around his middle and pulling him close. 

“Ah. As I recall, I spoke unkindly to you as well. I am not blameless.” She protested, reminding him of her own biting anger. He smiled as he stroked her cheek with a soft thumb, green eyes boring into her warm brown. 

“It was deserved. I was a brute. I lied to you. Told you tales about whores I visited, all to cause you anguish.” She reeled back a bit at his confession. He visited no whores? He was faithful to her? It was a strange revelation. Even well suited matches had their bouts of infidelity. It was to be expected, especially in such an antagonistic marriage. 

“They were lies?” She asked, brows furrowed. He reached up his hand attempting to soothe the line that had formed between her eyes. She smiled a little, the action strange and sweet. 

“All lies. To touch anyone but you would be a blasphemy to God and to my very soul.” His voice was all kindness and honest reverence and she could not help but believe him. There was a gentleness to him that surprised her, made her heart twist with pangs of love. How strange it was for a mouse to love a hawk.

“My sweet husband, you are forgiven.” She pulled him to her, planting a tender kiss on his lips. 

“I am blessed to have such a wife as you.” He announced as they pulled apart, faces still close. She thought they would remain close like this for all eternity, living in the glow of new found affection.

“You are,” was her smug little reply. He threw his head back and laughed, eyes crinkling at the corners. Her returning smile was triumphant, causing him to laugh even harder. 

“Your humility is boundless.” He teased. She giggled, pulling him close in a warm embrace. She placed her ear to his chest and listened to his beating heart, imagining that it only beat for her. 

“As boundless as my patience for your teasing.” She squeezed his sides with her deceptively strong arms, making him jump and laugh. He took her roving hands in his bringing her finger tips to his lips, planting soft kisses on each one. 

“Do not deny me the joy of teasing my wife.” His eyes were merry and a swooping happiness filled her stomach at the sight.

“I would deny you nothing.” She admitted, voice tender and hoarse with unspoken emotion. 

“And I, you.” 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Hope you all enjoyed this one! Leave a comment if you did. 
> 
> Title taken from Billy Shakespeare’s “Taming of the Shrew”


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